


Hell

by geokat



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon Compliant, Discrimination, Gen, Introspection, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Panic Attacks, Post-Time Skip, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Harassment, Sleep Deprivation, Starvation, Trauma, Whole Cake Island Arc Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geokat/pseuds/geokat
Summary: Sanji describes his time on Momorio Island as "hell". Despite what he lets his crewmates believe it has nothing to do with the lack of ladies. He spent two years either fleeing or fighting. He did not come away unscarred and did not have a fun adventure.An attempt at a canon compliant explanation for Sanji's reactions without just being a prejudiced jerk. Lots of trauma and internal narrative.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	Hell

**Author's Note:**

> So as much as I love One Piece, I was terribly disappointed in the portrayal of Momoiro Island.  
> It’s really uncool how Sanji overreacted. I could understand if he found the lack of ladies devastating – it is a major character flaw and personality trait to be obsessed with women – it doesn’t excuse his developing phobia of transvestites.  
> Sanji's reaction aside, I was appalled that his “challenge” included “defending his manhood”. As if these people who came to the island for liberation and freedom to express themselves would choose to use crossdressing as a punishment. Oda has some clear biases and nearly every okama appearance irks me more. 
> 
> That said, I am writing this story as canon-compliant (at least until some new flashback discredits it). I think there are at least a dozen good reasons he could have considered the island hell. Sanji is the type to keep his actual trauma close while throwing up easy explanations for others to take at face value. (In my opinion.)

.

Sanji woke sweating and shaking. It wasn’t his first nightmare, but it had been a while since he dreamed of _That Place._ Hell. He was trembling as he slipped out of the room and onto the open deck. The movement and salty air reminded him he was free. The familiar grass under his feet and wood beneath his fingers was familiar and soothing. He stood for several minutes taking in the moonlight on the waves before he thought his hands were steady enough to hold his cigarette. They weren’t quite and it took several attempts before the end lit.

**The Sea**

It was good to be at sea. He was raised on the sea. Germa might have been a floating island like Thriller Bark, but it moved like a ship. When a storm rolled through the land moved. There might have been parks and trees, but the wildlife were pets and seabirds. _That Place_ had been a shock. He hadn’t realized that the longest he’d ever spent on land was still less than a month in Alabasta. Little things like strange bugs and weird fauna were constantly surprising him. The sheer stillness of the place unnerved him and kept him alert even when he tried to rest.

He tried to sleep by the shore at first, the sounds and smells of the ocean soothing him to sleep. He cursed himself for becoming predictable. It made the shoreline almost forbidden to him. Whenever he lost his pursuers, there was always a group that would scour the beaches. Losing the sea was devastating. For two years he had next to no contact with the ocean. He could run along a beach or occasionally sneak into a cave for a short time, but never longer than an hour. Never long enough to swim or fish or even just breathe the sea air without vigilantly watching his back.

_If he sometimes pretended the taste of his tears was sea spray, well that was vanity wasn’t it? It was about men not crying. It had nothing to do with the longing for something he didn’t know he could ever miss. It had nothing to do with the fear he might never escape to the sea again._

**Manhood**

“Defend your manhood” the Emperor declared. So Sanji did. He fought and bled and knocked around these men who dressed like women but didn’t act like ladies. They threatened him with dresses, but it was pride more than fear that kept him from giving in, and the thrill of the challenge. It wouldn’t have been the first time he wore a dress. Honestly, hadn’t he worn one just a week back to fight the stand-in emperor? He’d been dared by men on the Baratie and hazed by his brothers.

Except it wasn’t that and Sanji didn’t realize until the first time he agreed to wear a dress in exchange for a dinner invitation. He’d eaten his meal and was thanking his host when the Emperor showed up. Sanji had gone pale thinking maybe this was it. He’d lost his chance at training and would be disqualified from the challenge. Instead of saying that though the Emperor lunged at him.

“Giving up your manhood, Sanji-kun?” he laughed as his fingernails grew and began dripping.

Sanji had been on the island long enough to hear about the devil fruit that allowed their ruler to change genders at will, among other ‘miracles’.

“Not what I had in mind for today, no.” He tossed himself across the room, narrowly avoiding the slicing fingers.

“You put on that dress, did you not?” the man argued smugly.

“To get some dinner! How do you expect me to survive…” Sanji cursed sprinting away and scooping his clothes as he went.

“The challenge was clear. If you want to learn you will defeat my candy-boys and earn their recipes. If you want to retain your manhood, you will defend it.” The giant head and purple hair were easy to keep track of in the forest and Sanji ran dodging slashes and swipes.

He managed to pull the dress off when Ivankov punctured a tree and ducking under a death wink he put a little more distance between them. Sanji slipped into shirt and pants one desperate article after another, running and dodging the whole time. He wasn’t strong enough to face this man alone. He’d learned about underestimating opponents the hard way. Only when he was dressed and dodging behind a tree did he realize the Emperor had stopped. He turned to look at Ivankov, not sure what to say and breathing hard.

“Looks like you are still fighting Sanji-boy. Pity. You’d make a sweet young girlie.” He flexed those long nails again before they shrunk into normal fingernails.

Sanji shook his head mutely and shuddered. They wouldn’t really… He swallowed hard watching the Emperor walk away. A crowd had formed and the first flutter of a dress in hand had him sprinting away. He wasn’t going to _ever_ risk putting on one of those again. Sanji didn’t want to be a girl. He didn’t want to know if the man would change him back or leave him with permanent lady parts. He ran and hid and dodged. The flutter of a dress brought a helpless dread. Wearing a dress didn’t make him any less of a man. It didn’t before. It could now. A dress could mean something more permanent than the loss of a few recipes. It could be a forever change. If he was too tired to avoid a dress, he could find himself too tired to dodge sharpened fingernails. He could find himself in a different body altogether. Sanji swallowed and shook. He ran his fingers down muscled chest, narrow hips and even cupped his balls to check he was still intact. He didn’t understand why they would want to change him against his will.

_He’d been told all his life that he was born wrong. That he was too weak, too emotional, too useless. German’s failure. Zeff didn’t care about any of that but Zeff didn’t allow girls in his kitchen. Sanji didn’t want to change. Sanji didn’t want to lose his manhood. He didn’t want to become someone else._

**Hunger**

Sanji understood hunger better than most. He’d spent days on a barren rock literally starving. He never wanted to be in that position again. It wasn’t _fair_ that he was on an island, full of people and plants and homes with full pantries, that he could be hungry like this again. He ran. He was always running. He’d tried once, to stop in the little village and trade for food with the bellies he had for shopping in Sebody. They’d immediately began taunting him about his “challenge” and the chase had begun. No attempts to purchase food had gotten more than a wild run and threats. Scavenging worked some of the time, but he didn’t recognize anything about the island plants and food. The strange pinkness of everything made it difficult to determine if anything was dangerous, poisonous, venomous, or strange. A recent experience with a hallucinogenic potato made him wary to try again. Sanji was hungry. He hated being hungry.

He ran through the woods slipping through passages and over tangles of roots with the ease of recent practice. He’d once envied Usopp’s ability to race through forests without tripping. Now he was learning the skill and hated every moment of it. He was hungry and burning energy too quickly. On his rock at sea, Sanji conserved energy by not moving or speaking for days, weeks on end. He’d learned to even sleep sitting against the rock and save himself the painful movements sitting up and laying down cost him. Now he was getting hungry but didn’t dare rest. Which was worse?

He lost the crossdressers. Sanji settled into the branches of a tree where he could keep an eye out for their return. He carefully inspected his findings. An apple in one pocket, a small honeypot, not sugar like he thought, but honey would be good, one can: beans, and a handful of rice here. It wasn’t much but at least he’d had time to open a cabinet and grab the beans and rice. He could make this work for a bit. Not long enough, but he’d survive. He was hungry, but he’d survive. At least when he “won” a recipe he was given a chance to cook it once and eat a full nutritionally packed meal.

Everything about his training as a cook told him that a single meal a week would not provide the caloric intake needed to sustain an active lifestyle. He didn’t need to see the way his clothes hung off him to know he was burning himself out. That his body was eating itself. That he was out of fat and it would start eating through muscle soon, crippling him in this fight. How was he supposed to last two years without food? He was hungry. Sanji hated being hungry. He nibbled carefully at the apple making it last with slow bites. He could probably make the second half into apple soup if no one returned before… Voices drifted to him and Sanji ate the apple in three greedy bites. He was already moving when he noticed he’d been ringed.

He was chased and surrounded by those assholes. They laughed and waved dresses like this was a game to them. Sanji was hungry and he couldn’t do more than run. He was wasting that apple with every step, but he couldn’t stop. They were coming from the front now too. He ran and ran and ran _up._

_If his first thought upon achieving the geppo technique wasn’t the trill of accomplishment but the hope for a real meal, that was his secret. He’d never admit he sky walked for the first time because he didn’t want to risk losing a pocket worth of rice in a fight._

**Drugs, Devil Fruits, Hypnosis?**

Sanji couldn’t explain his descent into madness that had him acting like a lady. Was it a drug? A devil fruit? Hypnosis? He’d seen all three do insane things. It unnerved him that he’d been so susceptible to it. He’d lost his will to fight and forgotten about his urgent need to meet up with his crew. Sanji didn’t understand how the desire to look and act like a woman had led him to nearly abandon his crew but he was grateful for the news coo that snapped him out of it. Even if that paper brought the worst kind of news. Sanji didn’t know _how_ they had controlled him, only that they _could._

Sanji would never forgive himself for his days wasted playing dress up and running on a beach. If he’d fought harder maybe he would have found his crew, found Luffy, ~~saved his captain’s brother~~ , instead of losing his mind. Sanji hated that the Stand-In-Queen refused to explain their “secret techniques”. He couldn’t explain how he’d gone soft and compliant and become a different person. He couldn’t explain why he thought it was better to put on lipstick and watch the sunset than to find his injured nakama. Two years and he couldn’t think of a way to tell his crew he hadn’t been trying to find Sebody when he saw the paper. That he’d already given up. He still didn’t know if he _could_ have snapped out of it on his own. There was nothing to fight when the enemy was in his own mind. Was he so weak willed?

If he didn’t know how, he couldn’t stop it from happening again. A devil fruit could be controlled by only one person, but if it were drugs than anyone could do it. Something in the nail polish? He fought desperately to avoid any touch. He wore his collar up when he could and wore his jacket even in the heat. Sanji avoided physical contact and was grateful that his fighting style was leg based and he didn’t have to worry about his hands touching flesh.

Sanji avoided looking into eyes or at anything that shined for longer than a few seconds. He wouldn’t risk being hypnotized. He hated that most of the people chasing him wore some kind of gaudy jewelry. He spent more time running than fighting. He found his senses stretching until it was like he could sense when people were nearby. He could sense when they were going to attack him, even when he wasn’t looking at them properly. Sometimes it was overwhelming, and he could swear he felt their emotions, the _glee-fun-challenge_ and the _spite-revenge-karma_ that came from his chasers. He hated the feelings. He depended on the feelings. He wasn’t sure if he could trust even his own mind.

_Sanji would later learn words like Haki and Kenbunshoku, but there were still days he wasn’t sure his mind was his own. He could be remade into a different person on a whim. How could he be free if it was his own mind that betrays him?_

**Explanations not Excuses**

Sanji knew he was rude and out of line when he’d first woken to find himself on the pink island. He knew his thinking was very binary when it came to gender. He’d had discussions and been told off more than once in his life. He was aware of this but could never quite remember these things. (He was told it was because he was a womanizing asshole but Sanji thought there was probably more to it.) As a kid the only women he’d known were his mom, his sister, and a few nurses. There were no women working in the Baratie, only beautiful guests. Zeff taught him to respect women and the chefs taught him to appreciate their delicate beauty. Women were to be treasured, protected, and admired because women are inherently special. It fit nicely with everything he personally knew about women for seventeen years. Nami and Robin were constantly challenging his world view, but it was expected that his nakama would be more epic than the usual woman.

He knew he was rude, and he knew he was inappropriate. So he tried to apologize. He didn’t need them to accept it, but he tried to apologize for his actions. Sanji didn’t know how to treat these people. Were they men just dressed different? If they were ladies at heart shouldn’t he treat them delicately even if he didn’t find them physically attractive? If they were men, he could spar freely. He tried to get an explanation but more often than not he got anger and an even more determined chase.

Sanji didn’t care how they dressed. He didn’t even care how they identified themselves he just wanted to clarify the confusion. Some of the people offered him pronouns and most of them seemed to identify as men. Not all of them. So Sanji remained desperate and confused trying to wrap his fight and flight instincts around those strange people who considered themselves “neither” and those that considered themselves “both” because how could they be? He tried to apologize but he knew it was inadequate when he continued to make the same mistakes. He couldn’t excuse his behavior only offer and ask for explanations.

If sometimes he remembered how happy he was on a beach in a dress… That was part of what he cannot explain, even to himself. It was part of the weird change he experienced and not to be trusted. Sanji didn’t know how to fit into a world where women aren’t special treasures but just as different and dangerous and deadly as men. He didn’t know how to wrap his head around just being able to _decide_ to be a woman. He hated when his apologies were met with blank looks, angry eyes, or worse, deep hurt. Like Sanji was doing it all wrong. He didn’t know how to do it right. Each attempt at an apology was met with a chase, a dress, a threat, or an insistence that he should join them.

Sanji knew Luffy would be ashamed. His captain treasured freedom. He fought for it. If Luffy were here, he would be thrilled that these people had a place they could feel comfortable and free. Luffy would probably hit him for disrespecting that. Sanji tried to be respectful. Tried not to judge the freedom of the people he met. Like his captain he believed in the freedom of the sea and that everyone should be able to just be themselves. It just didn’t make sense, and no one would explain it. He just wanted them to stop mobbing him for five minutes to help him understand.

_Sanji dreamed of the brothers who never tried to understand and never allowed him to explain. He didn’t know if he was the victim or abuser on Momoiro Island. He knew he wasn’t right, that he trespassed and offended. Two years of punishment later and he still didn’t have an explanation or an answer. How was he supposed to treat a person who didn’t fit into a clear role? How would they treat him if he got it wrong?_

**99 Grandmasters**

A challenge to find and fight and win ninety-nine challenges in two years. It didn’t sound impossible but Sanji could do math. He’d have to first find each opponent and then defeat them in combat. He would have to master new recipes with new ingredients and possibly new techniques. Having grown up in a kitchen it wasn’t as simple as reading a recipe to know it. Not to mention the okama promised to teach him about using foods to build his crew’s strength and stamina. It could take weeks to master a single recipe if it were complicated or delicate enough. He might be the best chef in the East Blue, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he had nothing left to learn.

He didn’t have time though. He’d done the math. He had roughly seven days per recipe. Somehow, he had to find and fight and win. He was tired. His ribs ached from the last fight. His ankle hurt from a tree root he hadn’t seen as he dodged a mob. He had no idea how to identify who had the secret recipes. He was lucky with the ones that taunted him, but he couldn’t depend on that forever. He followed the crossdresser with the tiny scroll.

His last encounter was a disappointment. The fight had been tough and thankfully no one was interested in interfering in his “challenge battles” once he was engaged with the right fighter. Sanji managed to win the fight and the scroll but then the okama made as if to walk off.

“Hey, I was promised instruction.” He protested. “If I beat you, I get to learn the recipe and the techniques.”

“And you have.” He pointed at the scroll.

“That’s a damn lie. Any shitty cook can tell you a dish is more than its recipe. How can I learn it without cooking it? How can you claim to have taught me anything if I’ve never seen you cook?” he slapped a palm on the counter frustrated. He hadn’t slept all week trying to find someone with one of the secret recipes.

“I suppose that’s true.” The cook agreed grudgingly.

Sanji had one attempt at cooking the dish after watching and sampling the other chef’s cooking. His recipe hadn’t quite worked out, but the cook had declared them done. When Sanji protested the man had called in the “girls” and sent him running. Sanji really hoped that was a one-off. How was he supposed to learn like this? Ninety-nine recipes, ninety-nine fights, an island of enemies, 730 days. That was assuming he won each battle at the first encounter. Considering the Stand-In-Queen Caroline had trounced him twice now and still held her scroll he couldn’t depend on his own strength. He hated competitions. He didn’t like even the cooking competitions he’d participated in. He wasn’t like Zoro who would love the idea of facing down a hundred grandmasters. Sanji needed to keep fighting. He didn’t have time for rest and recovery. He couldn’t take it slow or wait until he felt ready. He hadn’t told Iva about the two-year deadline, but he was hyperaware of it himself.

_He was tired, worn out, injured, hungry. He couldn’t get enough to eat. He wasn’t safe to sleep. There was no time to heal. He had to keep fighting. He had to keep winning. He could do it. Zoro had strength but Sanji had stamina. 99 Grandmaster Battles in two years. He would win or kill himself trying. Sanji didn’t think it was an exaggeration._

**Help Me**

It’s just you vs the entire kingdom, Emperor Iva told him. Sanji hadn’t realized how literal that was. Running through the pink parks and pink mountains and pink forests he didn’t even consider there were actual cities until he stumbled over one. He stumbled to a stop, struck by the normal look of it. Despite the pink and white color scheme, the city seemed perfectly normal. He saw men walking down the street, but they seemed like perfectly normal men. He ran down the hill.

“Hey! Hey, can you help me out?” Sanji waved at the men. _If I can just get some provisions this could turn around._

“Help you?” one of the men asked frowning.

“Yes, please! I just need-”

“Are you surrendering?” another cut him off.

“S-surrendering?” he was getting a sick feeling his senses going wild.

“Just give in to your inner-woman. Emperor Ivankov sent your image with the challenge.” The first man held up a picture of Sanji.

“N-never mind then.” He turned heal and fled. “Damnit!”

“Not so fast!” the men were chasing him.

Sanji ran. Someone was ringing a bell and shouting for help. Sanji ran faster. He cursed as he realized there was no help. There would never _be_ help. Everyone was in on it. City or not, business or not, normal or not, there would be no help coming and no quarter given. He ran and hid and ran as the largest manhunt yet began. Sanji was thankful that the men pouring out of the city were weak in comparison to the crossdressers he usually dealt with. He was able to kick his way free of several groups of men, knocking them out or breaking bones. He just wished there were fewer of them. Like a kicked anthill or battered beehive they swarmed after him. He was grateful his sky walk technique was not something the islanders could replicate. It saved him from several coordinated pincer and circling moves. He couldn’t be trapped so easily. He was getting tired. Even as he moved away from the city news traveled fast and he knew they were tracking his location. It wasn’t fair the way they helped each other. Sanji didn’t stand a chance against an island worth of people. He had no choice though. He had no way off the island except by winning. The Emperor promised him a boat if he survived the challenge. He had to do it. Shaking silently from his spot between the roots he let footsteps pound past him. The men were close enough he could touch some of them as they passed. Instead, he stayed still and silent. His hands covered his mouth, muffling his breathing and reminding him not to make noise. He let the search party pass him and doubled back. Three days and counting, he’d find a hole in their search pattern soon and make his escape. He had another challenge to fight and he couldn’t do that without at least a little sleep.

_Sanji was surprised each time a crew member jumped in to help with a fight. He’d been alone for two years. It was strange to remember he had help of any kind. He didn’t even have to beg for it. Maybe someday he’d find his words again and ask for a different kind of help. Maybe not._

**Sleep Deprived**

He couldn’t sleep. Not because he wasn’t tired. Because they kept finding him. It didn’t matter where he hid, they would come for him in the night. He forfeited the beaches in the early weeks and they still patrolled there often. He couldn’t seem to find a tree or cave of bridge to hide under for long enough to rest. He was starting to think the entire island was against him. Could those weird pink animals communicate? Was he leaving some kind of trail in all the flower petals? He couldn’t tell.

Sanji couldn’t sleep and it was making him edgy. He was sloppier in his fights and snappier in his encounters. It was earning him enemies. One of the bastards actually brought a knife to the fight yesterday. Would they fight to kill him? He thought they just wanted his surrender. His manhood. His compliance, obedience, spirit. Sanji couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t stop.

He wanted to cry and scream and beg. He just needed a couple hours. Where were all these people coming from and why did they care? Did they get something by harassing him at all hours? Maybe their Emperor was that terrifying. Hadn’t Ivankov said something about not sleeping?

Sanji couldn’t sleep and it was making him jumpy. He was flinching at shadows and running before he was sure there was even a threat. He wasn’t sure what was real. He wasn’t sure if he was even real. What is reality?

Sanji woke as they were undressing him. He kicked until they were unconscious instead of running away. He shook as he rebuttoned his shirt and pants. He felt raw, dirty, violated and oh so tired. He smoothed the front of his shirt and told himself he wouldn’t have minded if they were real ladies. Not that a real lady would do such a thing. He walked away slowly, limbs heavy, but unwilling to sleep. It wasn’t safe to sleep.

_On the Thousand Sunny with his nakama snoring, Sanji could sleep for a bit. There was safety in numbers. He could sleep with these men to guard his back. And when he couldn’t sleep, he told himself he was staying awake to guard theirs._

**Constant Vigilance**

Sanji had to be ready. He had to keep an eye out for any voices, any movement any threat. He couldn’t afford to rest. The longer he lasted the more people who seemed invested in catching him. Sanji was starting to recognize faces. He ran and ran and ran. He couldn’t stop. He had to keep an eye out.

Sanji couldn’t sit in the open unless the space was wide and flat enough to run in any direction. He preferred to have his back to something secure. He had to stay safe. Nowhere was safe. They would come for him. They always came for him. Sanji was getting better at hiding but it was never enough. He was never safe enough. Never safe. He had to keep moving but slowly. Slow enough to hear footsteps in the forest. Slow enough to see movement in the trees.

The ones who came, chasing him, they didn’t need to hide. They were usually loud and bright and laughing. Sometimes they were sneaky though. He had to be ready for those who slipped through shadows to try and grab him. He had to watch for the slightest change in the air in the noises around him in his view. His heart pounded as shadows jumped, but no just a cloud. He waited, anticipating. They were coming.

His muscles ached from strain. He ran too much and too far but he wasn’t safe. He could feel the knots in his shoulders as they tensed but couldn’t ease them. He worked each hand carefully, stretching individual fingers with care. He’d found fingernail marks in his palms that morning which was unacceptable. He couldn’t damage his hands. There were better parts to claw at if he needed to release tension. His stomach ached from hunger but also the tightly wound muscles. He settled into the tree, watching and waiting as he ached. He couldn’t stay here long. Just enough for a rest. If he could sit still and quiet he would save energy. His eyes darted around the pink and white forest. He decided he hated pink. It was officially his least favorite color. He needed to rest his muscles. Rest his mind. No, that was dangerous. He had to stay alert.

How long had he been here? He couldn’t remember. Would it be more dangerous to stay or move? He couldn’t decide. His heart was pounding. His head hurt. Sanji couldn’t stop shaking as he looked around. He had to stop moving or they might see him before he could see them. He stayed still and listened. Leaves rustled. Was it them? An animal? The wind? He didn’t know. He couldn’t waste the energy and he couldn’t stay here. Sanji rocked slowly then stopped. He couldn’t move. They would find him if he moved.

_Sanji couldn’t stand with his back to a door anymore. He knows it’s obvious to the mosshead, the captain too probably. He just couldn’t do it. Even in the safety of the Sunny he couldn’t do it for long. Would he ever be back to normal?_

**Hygiene**

Sanji had always been fastidious in his appearance. It was one of the few areas he’d always been able to please his father and tutors as a child and later Zeff and emphasized the importance of cleanliness in a kitchen. He kept his hair and nails neatly trimmed. He wore clean, coordinated outfits. He didn’t shy from dirty jobs but was meticulous in cleaning afterwards. The shitty swordsman might get away with showering once a week but there was no way Sanji would allow that kind of filth when he was preparing food. Kamabakka Kingdom didn’t get that memo.

Sanji found it nearly impossible to stay clean. After the second time his clothes were stolen while trying to bathe in a lake, he learned to wash with his clothes on. The humiliation trying to run and fight naked while the candies made comments on his appearance was a fast motivator. He managed to get some of his clothes back and get away, but the lack of privacy was a reminder that he needed to stay on guard always. He could alternate articles to take off and wash out so that he could fight or flee at the first sign of trouble. He never had quite enough time to finish bathing properly. He could give himself a quick, all-over rinse, or he could scrub at one or two really dirty areas to remove layers of dirt, blood, and dead skin. It was disgusting. He itched. He could see brown under his nails which were long and ragged because he had to chew them short like a savage.

He hated it most when he had cuts and scrapes. He could practically hear Chopper fussing. It was hard to keep himself clean on a good day. Trying to prevent an infection when he didn’t even have a pure water source was futile. He managed to raid a pharmacy for a cream and some wraps, but those bandages were looking grey and over stretched. He felt disgusting. He could never get clean enough.

The only time he had access to clean water and soap was when he found a Grandmaster and won a challenge. Visiting a real kitchen, he would take the time to scrub his skin to the elbows and clean his nails properly. He would insist on cleaning the dishes afterwards if only to get a second chance at washing his hands. Sometimes they’d let him use the bathroom and he’d have a chance to wash his face. He didn’t dare pocket anything on these occasions. He wouldn’t lose the opportunity at other challenges. Sanji couldn’t help but feel filthy as he stood in a pristine kitchen with a grimy shirt and greasy hair.

The beard he was growing was scratchy and liked to gather flower petals. He shuddered and promised himself he would figure out something soon. If he could steal a pocketknife or something he could shave and cut his hair. Standing under the rain and rubbing his scalp in a parody of showering Sanji cried. He couldn’t stand his own skin. He hated the droopy hair and the bags under his eyes and the dirt under his nails. He hated the layer of grime and sweat on his skin thick enough to cake under his fingernails when he scratched. He hated that his shirt had rips and bloodstains and other dark splotches. He hated being grateful to those shitty people just because they _allowed_ him to be partially clean once every week or so. He hated that even though his hair was getting clean he could feel the splatter of mud against his pants.

_Sanji scrubbed himself raw in the shower his skin pink and stinging from the soap. He needed to get out and save some of their water, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing one last check from head to soles to be sure he had every speck of dirt. He wrapped himself in a clean towel and breathed in the scent of his clean suit, carefully matched, and tailored to fit. If he checked it over a third time for stains or lint it wasn’t because he was obsessing. He just liked to be clean._

**Mentor**

Sanji listened to the crew share stories about their two years away. It seemed that each of them learned exactly what they needed and found a way to make the best of their circumstances. Each of them was landed in a position where they could achieve their goals. Luffy might not have allied with Hancock but that island was the closest place to Marineford that wasn’t Navy owned. Nami was planted on a weather island, Zoro with the greatest swordsman in the world, Usopp landed near the island guardian who jumped right into helping him, and Chopper was sent to an island with a giant library and a close relationship with animals that needed a translator like him to come along. It was all very convenient. Brook was the closest to his situation but from the telling it was his own miscalculation that led to his imprisonment and the musician still managed to become a Rockstar in two years. Franky’s stories weren’t all nice, but the cyborg uncovered a secret laboratory of a genius that worked on cybernetic enhancements among other things. Sanji didn’t understand. He’d spent the last two years fighting everyday without rest. He ran for his life, starved, bleed, and cried. He hadn’t been on a learning vacation. He hadn’t had a chance or a choice.

Was it his fault? Did he miss a clue somewhere? Was he supposed to meet someone or talk to someone and make a discovery? Find a mentor? Sanji felt sick. He’d spent his time on Momoiro Island feeling trapped and punished. His failure in Sebody come to haunt him. Maybe if he’d won either of his duels… Maybe if he hadn’t been so arrogant to start with… He’d needed to get stronger, but he’d believed that the challenge he was given was earnestly a do-or-die situation. He worried about the others and what challenges they faced. It never occurred to him that they might be enjoying their training or living their lives. What had he done? What was different about him?

Sanji stuck trembling hands deep into his pockets and only commented that he’d been in Hell. He let them believe that it was the lack of ladies that was his biggest challenge. It helped that he couldn’t stop his overblown reaction and graphic nosebleeds. Focusing on a beautiful lady reminded him he was no longer in _That Place._ True womanly curves and soft smiles reminded him he was safe and free. He could gush and flirt and he wouldn’t have to run or fight with any of these women.

_If he sometimes wondered if the nosebleeds were natural or a side effect of some kind of drug or hypnosis, that was just paranoia. He’d been prone to nosebleeds even before he went to_ That Place _. Even if he was bleeding a lot more than normal, that was just because he hadn’t seen a lady in two years. It was normal to be a little overzealous. He’d go through Chopper’s treatment and be fine. He was just being paranoid. It would pass._

**Nightmares**

Sometimes he couldn’t help but sleep. His eyes would fall closed and he would startle awake breathing fast as he tried to figure out where he was and where the danger might be. Occasionally he’d find a spot worth the risk and lay down regardless of the time of day to catch a few hours. He hated these times. His body needed the sleep, but his mind liked to play tricks. He’d dream of reaching hands, of dripping nails of pretty dresses and ribbons. He dreamed of a man with a bear hat slaughtering his crew. Of a green haired swordsman surrounded by bright red blood ‘nothing happened’. He dreamed he had curls and curves and stood alone facing a purple haired giant who smiled and said, ‘nothing happened’. He dreamed of making it to Sebody, but he couldn’t find his clothes only dresses and watching his crew sail away laughing because they got stronger and Sanji couldn’t. He dreamed and screamed and ran. He learned to keep his nightmares quiet because he didn’t have the energy to run.

He twisted in his sleep clinging to his elbows or knees. He made himself small and wished he were invisible. How many times did he wish to be invisible to escape his brothers? This was the same. He dreamed of his brothers finding him here. They would love to see him like this. They weren’t here were they? How would they get here? A flicker of blue in the corner of his eye and he was running. Sanji needed to sleep but he didn’t see why his mind wouldn’t let him rest. The blackouts were fine. At least they left him with a little energy. More often he was wrung out and exhausted after dreaming. He was so tired.

Dark bruises under his eyes told the world of his lack of sleep. Those who chased could see. They _knew_. They smiled as they offered warm beds and a good night of rest if he would just give in. They offered to warm the bed themselves and that joined his nightmares. He closed his eyes and woke drenched in sweat, shaking but silent because he learned. The nightmares were bad but the things that came when he was awake were worse.

_Sanji stood outside on the deck of the Sunny breathing the sea air and reminding himself he was free. Tears poured down his face and he didn’t bother to stop them. Sanji breathed and watched the water. Light footsteps behind him made his breath catch and he spun defensively. Luffy paused just out of kicking range, barefoot and in his pajamas. Sanji tried to lean casually against the rail. Luffy moved closer with a caution he didn’t usually bother with. He was startled when a straw hat was placed on his head. Luffy opened his mouth but Sanji gave a little whine before he could stop the noise. He couldn’t handle words right now. He reached up and pulled the brim of the hat over his ears in a childish move. His captain just nodded, moved half a step forward and kissed his forehead. He moved out of Sanji’s space a moment later and walked slowly towards the figurehead. Sanji considered following but he just wasn’t ready for that. Instead, he slumped to the deck, knees curling to his chest as he clung to a straw hat._ His captain was here. Sanji was safe.

**Author's Note:**

> With love from the author: Just a reminder that Sanji (whos POV this story is written from) is not an open minded guy.  
> This became my headcanon for Sanji's timeskip because otherwise I get really irritated every time Sanji sees an okama or referred to his time as 'hell'. He was truly traumatized and makes some generalized associations.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading!


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